Two-Day Shipping
by high-seas-swan
Summary: Come in we're open! Jones Brothers Bait and Tackle Shop. All Emma Swan wants is a beach chair and a quiet place to use it. Here's hoping Storybrooke's Bait and Tackle Shop has what she is looking for.


**Two-day Shipping**

Why did people have to go and ruin a good thing? Who did they think they were? Why were they using _her_ picnic table to do lunges?

Emma knew her thoughts were silly. It was, after all, a public park but she had gotten used to that table. She knew where to sit so it wouldn't rock. She knew by 12:17 the sun would be partially hidden behind the kelly green leaves of the large maple, and she would be able to read her book without squinting.

But no, instead she was forced to slump down in her car, open windows no match for the surprisingly sticky mid-May heat, her body all but melting into the black leather.

 _Ugh_ , her pants were damp from her ass to her thighs.

Sure she could have gone back to her air conditioned office, except that wasn't the point. She wanted (needed) her hour to herself.

She _needed_ to get rid of these people.

She took an aggressive bite into her turkey on rye and stared them down; maybe they would feel her glare and leave.

Nope.

The man and woman in black spandex were now using the bench as an aerobic step.

She made a mental note to bring something to wipe it down tomorrow.

Emma popped the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth and glanced down at her phone. Hitting the home button it lit up with a picture of her son. She traced her fingers over his smile before abruptly stopping when she noticed the time. She only had fifteen minutes left and a stack of files sitting on her desk at the office. Her shoulders dropped in defeat, and she turned the key bringing the yellow beetle grumbling to life.

She gave a last long look at the table-turned-gym-equipment and shifted the car into gear.

x-o ~ o-x

"You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me."

Four.

There were now four people around her table, stretching their quads, doing reverse lunges, smiling.

They were smiling because they had found the perfect picnic table. Jerks.

She briefly pictured stepping out of her car and marching over, badge at the ready, declaring the table was for patrons with food only. She could make up a by-law, she reasoned. She would also make a _great_ impression as the small town's newest deputy.

"Uggggggh."

Emma dropped her head to the steering wheel and took a few deep breaths. She needed to change her game plan. She could fix this.

She scanned the park; there were two other tables, but both were out in the open.

No, thanks.

Then at the far end of the park she spotted another cropping of maples, their leaves shaking and swaying in the wind, catching and diffusing the light beneath them. The sight was so lovely; she sighed just thinking of sitting there.

But she needed a chair.

She gave her head a shake, dropping her sunglasses down her nose and quickly pushed them up the bridge.

Now she just had to find a place that sold what she was looking for in this Podunk town.

She had forty-five minutes.

x-o ~ o-x

The longer she walked down Main Street, the further her spirits dropped. Storybrooke was barely big enough for a convenience store, and she expected to find a camping store?

She didn't long to return to Boston – no.

She may have missed the ease a larger city afforded, but Henry was happy. He loved his new school, and he loved that his mom was now able to pick him up every day.

And – getting to know her birth parents, while awkward and still in its beginnings wasn't (too) awful.

If only those fitness fanatics had left her table alone.

Emma kicked a stray pebble, ready to give up when it struck something in front of her. She glanced up to find she had hit a sign on the sidewalk.

 _Come in; we're open!_ The chalkboard read in big block letters and below, in a more elegant scroll; Jones Brothers, Bait and Tackle Shop.

She paused, eyeing the sign and then the small red brick building. Fishing rods of varying lengths and nets of green and black hung in the window along with a neon poster board sign indicating fresh worms.

Emma scrunched her nose.

Henry would love it.

Fishermen needed to sit, right? Did they need chairs?

Emma glanced around the quiet street if she waited outside the shop any longer the fine residents of Storybrooke would surely find something to gossip about.

What the hell.

She reached for the handle just as she noticed another sign; _Ask us about our boat tours!_

Henry would _really_ love that. Maybe she would ask.

The handle clicked, and she stepped into the shop.

The first thing she noticed were the bells lying on the chair beside the door. No one immediately came to her service, and she didn't mind. It gave her a chance to take in the surplus of equipment lining the walls and decorating the aisles. She spotted lures of every color, feathers and shiny metal fish. There were rods of every size and more fishing gear than she'd seen in her entire life, including an actual boat. She took a step closer.

She touched the metal edge of it with her boot and frowned. It didn't look very steady – she hoped their tours were on something a little more… ship shape.

The shop was packed but not cluttered, signs explained each section, and items hung in neat rows. Emma walked down the aisle; her feet light on vinyl floor runner while her fingers brushed along the wall. She picked up a bright pink feathered lure, running it absently between her fingers when she heard it. From a few rows over there was a mechanical whirling sound. She slowly followed the sound through raincoats and utility vests.

She rounded the corner and came upon the source and who she assumed was one of the Jones brothers.

He wasn't the silver-haired, weathered old guy she expected to see. If she was honest, she had pictured the gift shop fisherman in the yellow rain slicker, pipe dangling from his lip.

No, this man wasn't much older than she. He was tall and lean, and there was a hint of dark shadow lining his angular jaw.

And he was extremely focused on –

"Is that Let's Go Fishing?"

The four tiny plastic rods that he was holding between his knuckles, two in each hand, went flying behind him while the small yellow fish attached to the end of one came tumbling onto the counter.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" he cried out before clutching at his heart over his white tee and took her in with wide blue eyes.

Emma swallowed. _Not an old fisherman indeed_.

For a few beats, only the clicking of the little fish opening and closing their mouths, along with the rotating board game was between them.

"Right, right. Apologies, lass. I didn't hear you come in. Did you want me to ring that up? Anything else I can help you with? Planning on doing some mackerel feathering?"

The longer she remained silent, the more questions poured out of him, and the redder the tips of his ears became. Not that he gave her much of a chance and what was he talking about mackerel feathering? And what was that accent, British?

She bit her lip to reign in her smile, but she could already feel it pulling at her cheeks. He was quick to spot her amusement and finally paused. He puffed out his cheeks and let it out on a long breath. He dipped his head, but she saw the small upturn of his lips.

"Who was winning?" she finally asked as the remaining fish kept snapping. She hadn't meant to tease, she had intended to ask about the chair and be on her way, but well, here she was. She blamed his smile and the way his dark hair fell over his forehead.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled, fumbling to shut the children's game off and shoved it on the counter behind him.

With the plastic fish out of sight, he seemed to reset, his posture relaxing, hands slipping into his back pockets. He rocked back on his heels and finally gave her the full power of his smile.

"Welcome to Jones Brothers Bait and Tackle, how may I help you today?"

She approached the counter, dropped the feathered rig and glanced around.

"I don't think you can," she admitted, picking up one of the plastic fish, holding it in her palm.

His smile dropped a little, and she wanted to apologize.

"I'm sure that's not true, Ms…"

Now that he seemed to have gotten some of his bearings back, his confidence had returned. Emma wasn't sure what to do with that, so she responded to his question with a raised brow.

"It's just that I haven't seen you around town, and we're a friendly lot," he explained, hands now braced on the counter, leaning closer.

She looked at the little fish; she looked at him. He fidgeted just a little. She smirked but ultimately gave in.

"Emma Swan. I'm…"

But he continued before she could finish.

"The beautiful new Deputy."

At her narrowed look he backtracked a little. "I mean, beautifully dedicated to her job, new Deputy, or so I hear through the rumor mill."

She made a noncommittal sound and turned to look around once again, raising on her tiptoes to see over the aisles.

"Sorry - I, uh, accidentally grabbed this. I don't think you have…" Emma motioned to the pink feather and made a move to step back.

"Wait!"

She startled but paused.

"Can't know unless you inquire."

He looked eager to help. He looked genuine. He looked good.

She should leave.

"I'm looking for a beach chair. You know, the kind where you sit low to the ground? You can kick back?" she asked and made a show of crossing her hands behind her head and her feet at the ankles. He leaned over the counter to look at her feet and back up to her face with a smirk. She dropped her hands and waved him off. "You know the ones you can wear like a backpack? I need it, so I don't have to use my badge to get my picnic table back," she mumbled the last part but of course, he had picked up on it, blue eyes lighting up.

"Pardon me, lass. Has someone thieved your table?"

"No. Nothing like that. It's - don't worry about it," she stammered out and blew a stray lock of hair out of her face.

He waited.

Why was she telling him anything? Soon the whole town would know her business, and he had kind eyes; she liked the way they crinkled at the edges, she liked how he never looked away.

"I'm still getting used to this place. I like to decompress and have lunch at the park on Fifth, and there was a nice picnic table."

"There are three tables there. We donated one ourselves."

The words are no sooner out of his mouth that he holds up his hands in surrender at her _don't you think I know that_ glare.

"I know _that,_ but there's only one by that big maple, I like a little shade."

"We could move one."

He looked as shocked at his statement as she was to hear it.

"So you don't have the chairs," she responded instead.

"I didn't say that."

"No, you offered to move a table with me."

He opened and closed his mouth but grinned proudly at her small snort of laughter.

"I'm trying to find you a cheap and easy solution."

He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I don't think you should be in retail."

He tried to look somewhat affronted, but she could see his tongue poking at his cheek, and his eyes dance over her features; bright, blue, interested.

"I may not be the entrepreneur my brother is. I prefer to be out on the water, you see," he explained, turning to the wall behind him and tapping a framed picture of a sailboat, sails a brilliant white against a rocky shore.

If she squinted, she could make two men standing at the helm.

"Your brother?" she asked as he dropped his eyes to a laptop, tapping a few keys. She couldn't see the screen and tried to lean in closer, but he turned the screen away with a small tsk under his breath.

"Aye, the prat's on his honeymoon, forsaken me to run this place alone," he offered off-handed but paused and glanced up at her. "Although, I can't say it's a burden right now."

"Really?" she asked sarcastically, head tilted to the side, ignoring how her heart picked up at the silly compliment.

"Truly."

Not expecting his earnest gaze, all she could do was stare back. Her lips parted slightly but closed again at his wink. He turned back to the laptop, and she took the opportunity to give her head a shake, trying to refocus.

"But I still know every inch of this store."

"So you know you don't have any chairs," she supplied, and he frowned.

"I don't -,"

"HA!" Emma exclaimed wagging her finger at him.

He deliberately pushed her finger away with the palm of his hand without actually looking at her and turned the screen towards her.

"Ye of little faith. Gaze upon the item you desire."

Emma made the mistake of looking up at him first, and his triumphant grin only widened.

"I know, I know. Charming and devilishly handsome but eyes down here a moment, on the second most thing you desire."

She huffed, looked away but eventually brought her eyes down to the screen.

Her whole body eased, it was exactly what she wanted. The chair was green in the picture; a man was stretched out on it. She could see herself doing the same thing in the shade of a large maple, bare feet in the grass; head tilted back.

"You can get me that?"

She looked up to find a wistful expression on his face as he studied her.

"What?" she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

The look was gone as quick as it came.

"Are you ready to apologize?" he asked instead.

She snorted.

"Not likely. Is that even from your store?"

Emma reached out for the laptop, but he pulled it out of her grasp.

"Hey, now. Store property, do you want the chair or not?" he asked, holding the laptop out of reach.

She shifted, glanced down at her phone and frowned. Her lunch was nearly over.

"I could just drive into Brunswick on the weekend," she considered.

"Well, that's four days from now. I can get you this in two, and at a better price. Store policy."

She was beginning to reconsider her teasing retail comment, and, a small voice added, you have an excuse to come back.

"And you get to see me again. The item you most desire."

This time, she did laugh out loud. Honestly, who was this guy? He didn't seem put off by her laughing - if anything he preened. He placed the computer back on the counter and tapped a few keys.

"Nineteen, ninety-seven. That sound good to you?" he asked.

"No shipping fees? Special order?" she asked, weary.

"Free two-day shipping," he responded quickly, too quickly?

Her eyes narrowed.

His flicked up and quickly back down to the screen.

"What color would you like?" he pushed on and made eye contact, long eyelashes blinked slowly over the bluest eyes she'd ever…

"Blue," she said on an exhale.

He snorted.

She cleared his blue eyes from her mind with a little shake of her head, feeling the blood creep up her cheeks. "Don't even."

He held a hand to his chest and fluttered his lashes. "I don't know what you mean."

She waved him away but cracked a smile.

"Do you need my card or my phone number?" she asked, taking a few steps down an aisle, fingers brushing a small fishing rod, something maybe Henry would like for his birthday.

"I'd love your number, Miss Swan," his smooth voice came.

She could bite, she could say something sarcastic back; she could just show up in two days. She could also-

She walked back to the counter, eyes on his. Her stomach gave a little flip when she saw his Adam's apple bob. She reached up slowly, his eyes narrowing on her movements, and pulled the pen from behind his ear.

She found a scrap of paper and quickly jotted down her number. "You'll call when it comes in?" she asked.

He swallowed again. "Of course. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

She took a few steps backward, gave her head a little shake. "Nah. I think I'm good for now."

"Did you see our sign for boat tours?" he asked, eager.

"I did."

She glanced behind her, took a few more steps.

"Which Jones Brother are you?" she asked, noticing she still had the little plastic fish in her hand. Her fist tightened around it.

"Killian."

She liked it. It suited him. Killian Jones of the blue eyes and lilting accent. She nodded once, and then again as his eyebrow popped up.

"I'll see you soon, Killian," she finally said and forced herself to turn around and disappear around the corner. Her hand hesitated on the front door when his voice called out.

"I certainly hope so, Swan."

She left the shop with a smile and a little fish in her hand. She couldn't help the small snort of laughter as she held it in her palm.

x-o ~ o-x

She could have stayed at her desk; she could have eaten her lunch and made small talk with Archie – well maybe not the small talk part. She could have accepted David's, (her father – no that was still too weird) eager invitation for lunch but she just wasn't sure if she was ready for all that one on one time.

When Henry was around, doing all the talking and smiling enough for everyone, it was easier. Easier to believe that her family had somehow grown twofold, that it wasn't just her and Henry anymore, he had grandparents, and she had _parents_.

Emma shook her head and bumped it against her headrest a few times before bringing her attention outside.

To the little Bait and Tackle shop she had no reason being at.

As if life wasn't complicated enough moving into a new town, new job, new family, she wanted to add what?

"Yeah, what, Emma?" she asked herself and absently reached for the little plastic fish sitting in her cup holder. She brought the bright red fish to eye level and opened and closed its plastic mouth.

What was she saying yesterday about the townsfolk beginning to ask questions if they saw her loiter around any longer?

Emma glanced down the quiet street in time to see the first big fat drops of rain hit her windshield.

It was decision time.

She took a deep breath, tossed the fish back in the cup holder, grabbed her bag and made a dash for the front door.

It opened as silently as the day before, except this time, she was greeted by three pairs of eyes as she stepped in, a little out of breath, a little startled, a little panicked to be honest.

It seemed Killian was a little surprised as well as he bobbled the net he was holding as she took in the bright lures that hung from the beige Tilly hat.

He looked ridiculous.

And adorable. Dammit.

She would apologize, she would leave, she would -

"Why haven't you fixed those damn bells, then no one would be surprised."

She would say that.

"Oh, um, sorry?"

She flushed pink.

Way to go, Emma.

She looked between the two men but settled on the safer option, the little boy between them.

Killian draped the net over the young boy's head like a backward cap to the boy's giggled delight.

"I wasn't expecting you until…"

"I know, um, you're busy, I'll just come back tomorrow," she interrupted him, hand already reaching behind her for the handle.

"NO!" two voices shouted at the same time, startling her into dropping her hand. She stared at the two men who were now staring at each other, locked in a silent conversation. A muscle in Killian's jaw ticked in annoyance while the other man seemed to bite back his smile.

"I'm going to catch minnows," a little voice piped up. Emma dropped her gaze to the little boy who had taken a few steps towards her.

Emma bent down to his level, carefully removing the net from his head and inspected the green handle and white netting.

"Are you? That sounds exciting! And this looks the very best tool for the job. Let's see…"

Emma paused and made a show of looking around before dropping the net over his head again.

"Yes! It works perfectly, caught me a minnow!"

The boy laughed and smiled up at Emma.

"I'm not a minnow; I'm Roland."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Roland. I'm Emma."

Emma gently pulled the net off and handed it to him, with a soft ruffle to his brown curls, she stood.

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Swan, I've heard a lot about you," the man beside Killian spoke up with an outstretched hand.

Emma's eyes slid towards Killian, who flushed red, looking even more ridiculous under the Tilly hat, red and white bobber dangling off to the side.

"I mean, I know Sheriff Nolan quite well and with you being the new Deputy and…" he trailed off at her raised brow.

"Mmm," Emma hummed but stepped forward and clasped his hand. "It's a pleasure…"

"Robin," he supplied. "And I look forward to seeing you around Storybrooke but I promised this lad some minnows, so we'll be off."

Robin laid a hand on Roland's shoulder and urged him on.

"Thanks, Killian," he threw over his shoulder, still biting back that smile.

Little Roland waved, and Emma waved back.

They both waited until the front door closed before glancing back up at one another.

"I, um,"

"What can I,"

They both spoke and stopped, Emma giving a small snort of laughter before taking a few steps in closer.

She stopped before Killian, bringing a finger up to tap at the dangling lure.

"I'm sure Roland likes this," she commented off hand before continuing deeper into the store.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

She spun taking in his lopsided grin and popped eyebrow. "You look pretty dorky," she decided, head tilting to the side.

He copied her movements taking a few steps closer, crowding her closer to the counter. "That wasn't a no," his voice softened, body leaning forward.

Emma dropped her eyes preferring not to answer until she knew what she was doing. She turned and spotted the fishing game from the day before. Hands on the counter she boosted herself up, the movement causing her backside to brush his front.

She froze at his sudden coughing fit and bit her lip against the laugh. She shook her head and continued with her mission to grab the game.

She laid it on the counter and after a deep breath turned. He was scratching a spot behind his ear and looking anywhere but at her.

"Sorry," she mumbled and looked back to where the small rods were. "I'm just gonna..." she pointed to the sticks. Killian took a step back and nodded.

"So you have anywhere we can sit and play this and maybe eat lunch?" she asked, finally, admitting why she was there.

"I've had many lonely afternoons of practice, love, are you sure?" he asked.

"I think I can handle it."

He nodded and slowly reached across her to grab the game.

"Let's sail away then," he said and directed her with a tilt of his head (and with a sway of the bright lures) to the other side of the store. She followed, closely behind, her boots squeaking on the plastic runner.

He stopped in front of a long metal boat; it was shallow and army green. He stepped in and placed the game in the middle of the lone bench and lent his hand to her.

"Welcome aboard, lass," he murmured, hand tightening around her fingers. The boat was held in place by concrete blocks, so it didn't sway as she stepped aboard.

She followed his lead and sat straddling the bench, their knees brushing as they got settled. He tossed his hat to the side and tried to calm the mess his hair was now in before setting the game down. She liked the mess. She was currently finding she liked a lot of things.

"You're missing one," she mumbled with feigned indifference as she tapped the small plastic stick on her thigh.

He looked up at her from under his long dark lashes and took a moment.

He knew.

She kept her eyes on his as long as she could before glancing around the shop and feeling the smile tug at his lips.

"What do they say, set it free and if…"

Emma's bark of laughter cuts him off.

He doesn't look put off by her laugh if anything he looks pleased with her smile and chuckles himself.

"Perhaps I'll catch something better," he settled on instead and powered up the game, not waiting for her reaction.

The board turned and the little fish open and closed their mouths, red, green, blue and yellow, all clicking in an uneven beat.

He slid forward on the seat, his legs crowding the outside of hers. He gave her a small squeeze, knocking their knees together.

"Ready?"

"You bet your ass I am."

It was close, and even with one fish knocked away by her very unsportsmanlike smack, he still edged her out three games to two. He was still laughing as he reached down to find the little fish she had smacked off his rod.

"Now, Swan, no one likes a sore loser."

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking anything but.

"I take it you played more individual games growing up?" he asked as he eased the game to the floor.

She looked away, not sure what else she could do sitting so close to him, trapped between his knees. She felt his knees knock hers, and she turned back. He was resting his elbows on his thighs, chin in his palms.

She gave him a half-hearted smile, and he saw through it as he frowned a little.

"I didn't um, I moved around a lot younger, so I didn't play much of anything. I guess that's why I don't play well with others, huh?"

She scratched at a spot on the bench until his thumb and index finger trapped hers. He gave her finger a little squeeze, and she looked up.

"You did just fine, love," he murmured, his thumb tracing a path back and forth against her finger. "It was just Liam and I growing up. We did much moving as well. I suppose he being the older, wiser brother put me in my place many a time," he gave her a small smile that grew when she responded in kind.

As much as she wanted to remain in this perfect little bubble, she knew she should be going. If someone came in what would they think? But he kept smiling; his knees were warm against hers, and she could just barely hear some classic rock playing back at the case.

It was ridiculous. She barely knew him.

"Have you given more thought to our boat tours?" his voice was teasing but hopeful.

She wondered if she could set her new chair on the bow and enjoy the sun. Did they make kid-sized chairs? Did he know? Would he care?

"Love? Everything alright, you looked troubled?" He moved to clasp her hand that had tightened on his.

"How much has this town gossiped about me?" she asked.

He looked taken back a moment. "Oh well, I don't usually partake in such -"

"I have a son. Henry. He's six."

Emma cringed at her sudden outburst, closing her eyes, planning her exit strategy. This is why she didn't do this. He was going to make an excuse to get back to work, the game no longer fun, he was going to-

"Oh. Well, I have a dog, Zeus. He's also six."

Her eyes popped open and found shocked blue eyes watching her. Killian opened and closed his mouth, rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and finally brought it around to cover his mouth.

"Did you just…" she trailed off.

"I think I did," he mumbled through his fingers.

She wasn't going to laugh. He just compared having a dog to her having a kid, but he looked so embarrassed, maybe she wasn't the only one inept one. And he was still holding her hand, if he knew it or not.

Her quiet laugh slipped out and at his sharp, another snort followed.

He shook his and looked down but joined her with quiet chuckles. "Charmed yet?" he asked.

She thinks she may have been from the start. Maybe there was something to be said for new beginnings and leaving the past in the past.

"Perhaps," she offered. He was after all still a stranger.

He let out a breath he seemed to be holding and ran his thumb over her knuckles.

"Perhaps." He rolled the word around his tongue. "I can work with perhaps," he nodded to himself and sat up straighter. "Now if you'll let me try this again."

She nodded and watched him take a deep breath. The hope that bloomed in her chest was an odd sensation. In Boston she was too busy, too concerned with giving Henry everything he deserved and while she was still busy and Henry was still her priority, the last month in Storybrooke had finally allowed her to breathe and just maybe think a little about herself.

"I didn't know you had a son, is he enjoying Storybrooke?" Killian asked, genuine interest in his eyes.

Her heart sped up.

"He is. Loves school, loves that my new schedule allows me to pick him up every day. He's happy."

Killian nodded, seemed to think on his next words.

"Well if he's anything like his mum…" his words trailed off at her raised brow, but his teasing smile remains. She gets the message.

Before she could come up with a reply, her phone rang. She reluctantly dropped his hand and reached for the phone at her hip with a silent apology.

"Dad," the word slipped out, and she regarded Killian with wide eyes. Where in the hell had that come from? "David, I mean, Sheriff."

She held the phone away from her ear and stared at it a moment.

"Okay, love?" Killian asked slightly concerned.

"Another story for another day," she whispered and brought the phone back to her ear with a slight cringe.

"Yeah, I'm here. Ok, I'll meet you there, I'm not far."

Her eyes met Killian's, and he waited, patient as she listened to the Sheriff on the line.

"I'm, I'm at the Jones Brother's Shop. Yes, I've met Killian. Yes, he's friendly enough I suppose."

Killian's eyebrows rose, and he leaned closer, trying to hear the man on the phone. Emma bit back her laugh and pushed at his chest, fingers against the warm skin exposed by the v-neck t-shirt. He wasn't deterred, moving closer. This time, she did laugh, straining away.

"David, David. We can discuss this later or never. I'll be there in five," she disconnected the call and tried to level Killian with the sternest look she could summon. It was quite difficult when he looked so pleased, so she looked away and concentrated on putting her phone away.

"I see my reputation precedes me."

"Something like that," she vaguely responded not quite to think about, let alone explain, her boss, father, trying to help with her love life.

She stood, and the boat rocked a little.

"Easy," he whispered hands coming to her hips. She looked down at him, and her thanks caught in her throat. He gave her a reassuring squeeze instead and moved to take her hand to help her out. He followed after her and walked her to the door.

"I'll be in tomorrow," she said, eyes glancing out the window at Main Street.

"For your chair," he supplied, but his eyes said something else, for me, perhaps? They asked.

She tilted her head up and settled her eyes on his.

"Or something like that," she whispered. "Bye, Killian. Thanks for the game."

She allowed one selfish moment for herself and dropped her gaze to his lips. She dampened hers in response and just before he could say anything else, she stepped out into the light rain.

x-o ~ o-x

Emma took four steps away from her car and two steps back, hands clenched into fists. She shouldn't be here. She wasn't sure where she should be, but it wasn't here. Not when these jumbled feelings were causing her fingers to shake. Not with a stranger (he's not a stranger, a small voice whispered). She swayed on her feet and looked up at the sign that brought her into the shop in the first place. She liked the fancy looping of the letters. She wanted to ask Killian if he wrote it.

Her breathing calmed a little thinking of these simple things.

A child cried out in the distance, and her body tensed all over again. Her thoughts immediately jumped to Henry. She knew he was okay. (He's okay, he's in math class or maybe art, making something new for the fridge). Her heart ached, and she forced her eyes once again to the bait and tackle sign.

 _Go in there_ , she thought, _because if you don't, you'll end up in Henry's classroom and scare everyone involved._

She forced her breath in and out. Another three steps forward. 

The door to the shop swung opened moments later. An older woman Emma remembered from the diner stepped out, followed by an animated Killian. He was gesturing widely with hands, in the middle of a tale that has the older woman laughing.

His words cut abruptly when he spotted Emma. Her breath caught as his smile changed; something open and warm and perhaps only for her. She smiled tentatively back, some of the heaviness of the day waning.

She forced her feet to move and watched Killian lean down to whisper something to the older woman.

Emma recognized her as granny, the octogenarian proprietor of the town diner, where Henry had been begging her to take him for a Saturday breakfast."

Granny patted Killian on the cheek before turning her attention, Emma.

"Lovely to see you Miss Swan, you and that boy of yours come to the diner Saturday," Granny said as she passed with a small squeeze to Emma's arm.

Emma could only nod. She was still getting used to everyone knowing her and Henry. And, to appreciate it as something good. She swallowed a lump in throat and put on a brave face.

Killian waited at the door, squinting against the sun.

With a few more steps she stood opposite him, and he was already tilting his head in a studying look.

"Alright there, Swan?" he asked.

 _Damn_.

Emma stuff her shaking hands into her back pockets and pulled him a deep breath.

"Yup."

She could lie. She could lie to Killian. She could. He tilted his head the other way. She could _try_ to lie to him.

"So what was Granny doing at a Bait and Tackle shop?" she wondered before he could ask any other questions.

"Well, fish and chips are on the menu tonight. How do you think the fish get there?"

Emma's head whipped back towards where Granny headed down Main Street. She didn't see a fishing rod. Killian's full-bellied laughs brought her attention back to the man with tears in his eyes. Emma scowled but didn't push him away when his arm came around her neck, tucking her in close. If anything she took a moment to snuggle closer.

"I'm sorry, Emma. I'm just kidding. She put an order in for citronella candles. Pesky mosquitos after the rain you'll see."

He led them inside, arm dropping away to grab a coat from the chair beside the door.

And Emma finally got a good look at him; he was wearing fishing waders. They went halfway up his chest, and were being held up by thick black suspenders.

"You're ridiculous."

He looked down his chest to where her eyes were and back up, unable to contain the smile.

"We just got them in. I need to know what I'm selling, Swan."

She shook her head but reached out to try the zipper on the bib. Just as she was closing it, his hand covered hers.

"Emma, are you quite sure you're alright? Your fingers are shaking and," he paused his questioning to grab her other hand and held them together between his warm hands. "Freezing."

She couldn't meet his eyes.

She was fine. Henry was fine. She just couldn't get her hands to stop shaking.

"Come, love, have a seat," Killian urged and changed his grip on her hand. He interlocked their fingers and led them gently down the aisle to the cash. She listened to the swish, swish of the waders rubbing together and concentrated on his metal rings pressing into her skin. He pulled her around the counter and only dropped her hand to place both of his on her hips. "Up you go, that's a lass," he whispers, helping her onto the stool.

His hands don't leave her hips. Instead, his thumbs pressed into her skin and rubbed a soothing circuit.

She finally had to look up. This man she's only known for a few days, a few hours, at most. This stranger.

His eyes held hers, patient but worried.

Not a stranger. Killian Jones. Who is kind to children and seniors. Who is kind to her.

"Honestly, I'm fine. It's just I keep thinking about Henry and the accident and," her words trailed off at the increased pressure of his hands on her hips and his widening eyes. She thought back to her words, _oh_.

"Is your lad alright? What accident? How can help?"

She reached up without a thought to place her hand over his heart. It was beating a quick staccato rhythm, and something about his worry quieted hers. She dropped her eyes to his chest, and trailed her hands up, first over the waterproof material of the waders and then to the soft cotton of his tee-shirt. After a moment and a deep breath or two, she gripped one black suspender and then the other.

"Henry's fine. He's at school. I answered a call this morning, an accident on the 123. Everyone is okay," Emma hastily tacked on the critical information before continuing. "The father swerved to miss an animal; they hit another car. He was in bad shape, unconscious, but he had his son in the back. He wasn't hurt, but he was crying. I just kept thinking of Henry and it just... it shook me. I'm sorry."

She kept her fingers on the suspenders, clenching and releasing the tension and repeating it all over again.

"It's quite alright, love. You scared _me_. I can't imagine, even if I do have a dog," he paused to enjoy her small snort of laughter as he poked fun at himself. "I really can't imagine, but I'm glad everyone is alright."

Her breath hitched when she felt his fingers ghost over the curve of her jaw. His fingers trailed further, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and coming to rest against her neck.

She turned her eyes back to his then, and he still watched her with a careful, worried gaze. Her heart sped up.

"You're okay, sweetheart," he asked, apparently unaware of the endearment he'd used. No one had ever called her sweetheart. She tightened her grasp and gave a small tug.

Killian bent closer, feet nudging forward.

"Emma?" he asked, his voice hitching higher.

His breath warmed her lips; his presence warmed her all over, and she stopped thinking.

With another small tug, Emma surged forward, her lips finding his. Killian made a little grunt of surprise but only tightened his fingers in her hair. He responded with an eager slide of lips, tilting her head for better access. She shivered as his stumble brushed her skin and his hand on her hip, tugged her closer. Her soft whimper was lost between them as her ankles hooked behind his knees.

Emma had no time to think, immediately lost in the press of his hips and the small groans that rumbled from the back of his throat. She just wanted to get closer; she wanted him out of the stupid waders so she could feel him properly. She slipped one suspender down, then the other, her hands trailing down his sides.

Suddenly, bells jingled, breaking the silence around them.

Reality came crashing down around them and sent Emma pitching off her stool. Killian staggered forward, the stool bumping into the cash, sending something clattering to the floor. With their chests still brushing on every shuddered breath, Emma looked up at him incredulously.

"You decided to fix them, today?!" she hissed out, trapped between his arms as he held himself on the counter.

"You told me to fix them yesterday!" he reminded her, eyes still on her lips.

"JONES! Where are you? I want my money back. You sold me a slippery fishing rod! It's at the bottom of the bay!" a loud voice cried out.

Killian groaned and looked to the ceiling.

"Leroy," they both grumbled and suddenly Emma was moving. She slipped under Killian's arm and kept her eyes slow.

"Emma! Love, wait!" Killian called out but she was already waving him off.

"I'm sorry, that was, I have to go," she mumbled, hands shaking for an entirely new reason.

Emma shouldn't have looked up, but she did, and she faltered for a moment. Killian had color high on his cheeks. His hair was standing in a wild mess, his hands still roughly pushing through it and his eyes, his eyes were urging her to stay.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and slipped past Leroy, not looking back again.

x-o ~ o-x

Unable to face Killian the next day, Emma found herself at the park. To her surprise, it was empty; her picnic table free and she was left feeling utterly miserable. She gave up on her sandwich and laid her head on her outstretched arm, watching the rays of sun cast patterns through the leaves. Her thoughts drifted to Henry and his steady stream of chatter from the night before, even through bedtime rituals, ('brush, Henry, then you can keep talking' she had urged him with a gentle nudge. He'd grinned around his toothbrush). He was so pleased with the extra book before bed and giggled as she had plied him with an abundance hugs and kisses.

His lightness got her through her own nightly rituals, but it was when she was sliding into cool sheets, awake but eyes closed, that she replayed the moment with Killian. It was enough to let the doubt set in and now sitting in the park, alone. Her mind continued to imagine all the ways he could let her down gently.

She should have gone to see him, apologized and picked up her chair. (Apologized and kissed him again.) She groaned and turned her head into her arm.

Emma Swan; mother, deputy, _coward_.

The weekend loomed long.

x-o ~ o-x

Emma had run the gamut of emotions over the weekend, nearly picking up the phone to call Mary Margaret. But that had moved a little too close to motherly advice, and she could only deal with one emotional crisis at a time. So, she took Henry to the park, chasing, sliding, and tiring them both out so that sleep came a little easier Sunday night.

Monday morning brought sunshine, determination, and a text message, although not in that order. Emma lost herself in city property records, when her phone buzzed.

Killian Jones: Can you come by noon to pick up your chair? We can't keep it forever now, Swan. And I'm sure you'll be wanting to get back to the park.

He couldn't even call her now. All she got was a text message. What a mess. _Well, fuck him_. And so entered the determination. She would stop by quickly, pick up her chair, throw a quick sorry his way and well, she wouldn't have to see him again.

The anger stayed with her long enough to push through the front door and sneer at the jangling bells, but that was about as far as it took her. As she stepped inside and wasn't immediately greeted by some silly version of Killian Jones she's come to expect, she stopped and shook her head. Expect? She reminded herself she's only known him a few days, but nonetheless, there was an ache at the memory of the fishing game, the silly hat, and waders, and what she'd screwed up.

She took a few tentative steps in, finding only silence and reasoned that was excuse enough to turn around. But she urged herself forward, knowing she needed to see this through. She came up short as she rounded the corner.

"You're not Killian, oh God, he's not even here," the words stuttered out of her mouth before she could rein them in.

A man, taller and broader than Killian, stood at the cash, warm smile in place. Emma felt sick.

 _He didn't even want to see her._

She took a step back.

"Wait, lass. You must be Emma. Killian mentioned you," the man spoke with the same lightly accented voice, and as Emma hedged forward, she noticed the men shared the same clear blue eyes and easy smile.

 _Great._

"Ugh, right. If I can just get my chair," she mumbled.

"We don't have it!" a feminine voice called from the room behind the cash.

Emma was stumped.

"What, but he said…"

A woman, Emma guessed was Liam's new wife suddenly appeared, carrying a box of what looked to be Tilly hats. Emma's heart hurt a little more. She dumped the box on the counter and glided around it. Before Emma could process what was happening, her hand was being clasped by this woman who was smiling warmly at her. Eyes dancing with something Emma couldn't place.

"Emma, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Elsa, and this is Liam, Killian's brother. I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to meet you before the wedding, but it was just so busy, you know how it is."

Emma decided it was best to nod because she decidedly didn't know how it was but if she could just get her hand back she would nod again and try to get the hell out of there.

"I thought you and Killian agreed he would bring it to you," Liam spoke up, but glanced away, finding something interesting on the computer screen.

"What? No? Where?" Emma sputtered, trying to reach for her phone but Elsa, held tight.

"I'm sorry. Killian mentioned the park? With the large maples?" Elsa supplied.

Emma nodded again, and Elsa let go of her hand but wrapped an arm around her waist.

What was up with Jones and co not knowing personal boundaries, Emma thought as she was directed back towards the front door. And _what the hell was going on_?

"Alright. I guess I'll go there. Thanks," Emma mumbled and watched as Elsa held the door opened.

"It was nice meeting you, Emma!" Liam's voice called from the back.

"I hope we'll see you soon," Elsa added.

 _Not likely._

Emma's shoulders slumped.

"Yeah, sure," she quietly added and as lost as ever, made her way back to her bug.

It didn't take her long to reach the park. It did take her awhile to leave her car, choosing instead to stare daggers at the couple working out yet again. _This is all your fault_. Besides, she didn't know where she was supposed to be meeting Killian, seeing as he hadn't told her.

What had Elsa said, the large maples? _Oh._

Emma glanced at the far end of the park in time to see a blanket being snapped in the air. As it lowered, the person behind the blanket came into view.

Killian.

And Emma was suddenly in motion, barely getting her seatbelt off before she was out of her car and onto the sidewalk. She slid her shades over her eyes, a small bit of armor between her and all the possible meaning of Killian being here. Her heartbeat picked up with every step; she had never felt so out of her element before. None of her experience in Boston prepared her for small town romance and picnics at the park.

Because that's what he was doing right? Having a picnic? She was only a few feet away when she slowed to a stop and watched him a moment. His back was to her; smoothing down the blanket before adjusting her blue beach chair.

"Hey," her voice was small and rougher than intended. She didn't know why she was still nervous; she was pretty confident an impromptu picnic was a good thing. But she still was.

He turned quickly, losing his balance and landed on his ass but his wide grin was in place. Albeit a little blush accompanied the smile.

"Emma!" his exclamation surprised both of them, and he looked a little rueful but still opened his arms in a grand sweep towards the blue chair. "Your chair has arrived."

She gave a passing glance to the chair but preferred to look at him. There was no board game or funny hat. There were no people to interrupt or fishing pants. Just Killian. And cloudless skies. His hair was a little bit of a mess, his stubble a bit longer than last week, it showed some red in the sunshine. Just Killian and his smile and Emma was left speechless.

Her chair was set up on one corner, tag still dangling from the arm. A picnic basket sat off to the side, and Killian in the middle of it all. He held out his hands, and she stepped forward, taking a tight hold and helped him to his feet. The tips of his brown boots brushed her black ones.

"So, Jones. What are we doing here?" she asked when she finally found her voice.

"Well, I promised you two-day shipping and here were are six days later. I owe you a bonus."

His thumb ran over her knuckles, and he gave her a small tug towards the blanket.

"That's only because I was too much of a coward to come to the store on Friday," Emma mumbled, unable to meet his eyes.

"Rubbish. The customer is never at fault." She gave him a look and knew they were both thinking of Leroy bursting into the shop. "Well, not one as beautiful as you," he whispered back and she couldn't believe it was that easy. That he had already forgiven her.

"Killian…" she hedged, unsure if she wanted to force the issue, thank him or just wrap her arms around him but he spoke up in a rush before she could do anything.

"I wanted to know if you would like to have lunch with me, Emma Swan?"

"Are you asking me out, Killian?" she asked, eyes busy on his lips, (stop) on his tongue that dampened them, at how close they were.

"I am, bad form not to have done so already."

The rest of his words were cut off by her lips. She pressed a hard kiss to his mouth and pulled back just as suddenly. He tried to follow, but she held his face between her hands.

"Oh God. Why do I keep doing that? I'm sorry. I'm out of my depth here and out of practice and clearly out of control and, what?"

He was smiling and trying to get closer; his nose nudged hers. Emma pulled back again.

"Killian?" she whispered as his hands slowly but deliberately found purchase on her hips. He turned them and backed her onto the blanket, looking at her like he wanted to eat her for lunch.

"Emma. You never have to apologize for kissing me."

And without another word his lips settled over hers in a kiss probably not appropriate for a public park. He took his time; it was a slow wet slide as her mouth parted for him, and he deepened the kiss. She couldn't help but slip her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer.

When they finally took a breath, he kept her close and only moved back a little to speak.

"Is that a yes?" Killian asked in a whisper, gently touching his nose to hers. She couldn't help but grin at the sweet gesture.

"Yes," she whispered back and allowed herself one more warm press of lips before gesturing to the blanket.

"Ok. So why don't you try out your chair while I set everything up?" he asked.

"No, I'll sit on the blanket."

His eyes narrowed.

"I'm not going to sit in the chair while we eat lunch together," she argued against the exasperated look he gave her.

"At least while I set this all up. See if you like it?" he suggested while walking her backward towards the chair.

Emma relented at his hopeful tone and sat. She stretched out her legs and was about to enjoy the view when she found a pocket. Testing the zipper, she noticed something inside. Killian was busy setting out the food, unaware of her discovery.

It was the Amazon shipping label with Killian's name in big block letters. She hid her laugh and waited until he was done.

"All set, love."

She didn't say anything, simply dangled the paper from her fingers.

He hedged over on his knees, and when he was close enough, took the paper, reading it quizzically. His eyebrows dropped as it registered.

"Bloody hell."

He crumpled the paper and dropped his head to her lap.

"I'm a fraud. Apologies, lass."

His voice is muffled in her jean covered lap, but she managed to make out the words. She laughed as she ran her hands through his hair.

He hummed softly.

"I'm glad you did," she whispered, and he turned his head.

"Yeah?" he asked as he got back to his knees, his hair a mess from her fingers. He leaned over her, holding onto the arms of the chair.

"Yeah."

"Good," he declared and paused to lay a hard kiss to her lips. "Now let's eat!"

And tugged her down to the blanket.

x-o ~ o-x

The chop of the sea had calmed as the afternoon neared its end as if sensing the desires of those who swayed on her swells. Now she only gently rocked the sailboats and seabirds alike. Emma carefully made her way onto the foredeck and slipped her legs over the edge. Leaning back on her hands, she watched the other sailboats in the distance; their white sails painted orange and gold with the setting sun.

Eyes closed, Emma enjoyed the warm breeze and salt air. A shadow loomed over her, but she kept her eyes shut, acknowledgment in the curve of her lips.

"Do you want me to bring him below deck, love?" Killian asked as he crouched behind her, hands cupping her shoulders. He dropped his head, his windswept hair tickling her chin as his lips found a sensitive soft along her neck. Emma sighed and granted him more access as more happiness than could have ever imagined settled over her. As his teeth found her lobe, she turned her head and chased after his mouth. Her teeth returned the favor, worrying his bottom lip. On a soft groan and lips that smiled against hers, he dropped to his butt and slid his legs on either side of hers.

As she settled against his chest, she turned her head towards the helm, where Henry sat slumped, fast asleep in her beach chair. His brown hair a tangled mess, thanks to the saltwater and wind, and his cheeks held just a hint of pink. She had reapplied the sunscreen but between bouts of swimming and wrestling with Zeus, her boy had gotten some color. And Zeus, ever the vigilant golden retriever, asleep at Henry's feet, partially hidden beneath the blanket that Killian had draped over them, looked quite content.

"He's okay, for now," Emma murmured. "He loves that chair, I may need to get another," she added. Killian curled around her; chin resting on her shoulder, arm tightening across her chest.

"Wherever will you find another?" he asked against her skin. She shivered but smiled.

"I know a guy. Got a great deal last summer."

She felt him shake with laughter.

"There might be a markup."

She turned in his embrace, fingers finding his jaw, she scratched at his stubble and pulled him close.

"I think he likes me, I'll get it at a good price," she whispered, nose brushing his.

"I think he loves you," he said, and those words still made her heart race.

"I love you too, Killian."

And she settled her lips over his.


End file.
